Page 115 of Put a Rink on It

Instead of answering the rhetorical question, she continues on the way to wherever we’re going, the rest of the ride silent. She pulls into an empty parking lot, the only vehicle a cookie food truck one of Walsh’s friends owns.

“I thought we were baking cookies at Tate’s.”

“Apparently, Sydney has ingredients we need.”

“Oh. Surprised Tate doesn’t have everything.”

“Or Aubrey.” Juliet laughs. The eight-year-old has more kitchen skills than she does.

She parks off to the side of the truck, and I see Sydney puttering around in there, her mouth moving as if she’s talking to someone. Her fiancé, Gabe, most likely. Talk about a supportive guy, and most of what I know filters through Walsh and Tate or the occasional Aspenridge hockey dinner Ma hosts for Walsh’s former teammates still local to Havenwood.

Juliet’s phone rings, and she glances at the screen and says, “Shoot, I gotta take this. Can you go grab the thing? Sydney knows we’re coming.”

“Sure.”

I hop out of the car and walk toward the truck. The paint is navy with images of different cookies on the side, the name, Shuga Cookies, in bold yellow letters painted on the left of the ordering window.

“I’ve made some interesting cookies before, but these might be the worst dumpster disasters in the history of them, but I’ll bet they’ll make great content. Olives don’t belong in cookies. There, I said it.”

My ears perk up at her mention of “olives.” If anyone could make them work, it’s Sydney. My feet carry me a little faster until I’m stopped in my tracks when the other person in the truck steps into view.

“Normally, I’d agree with you. Olives don’t belong in any food, especially a treat like cookies.” Nero’s voice elicits a hitch in my breath, but it’s his smile when he spots me that has me covering my mouth with my hands. “Marina.” My name isn’t even out of his mouth before he disappears from the window view, exiting through the back door of the truck and meeting me on the pavement. “Fuck, I’ve missed you, Ships.”

Without permission, he pulls me into his arms. I could fight it, stand my ground, demand we talk first before lines get more blurred, but the second he touches me, I’m gone. Like a warm blanket, his comfort wraps around me. Tears leak from my eyes, the shock of seeing him wreaking havoc on my emotions. Hints of flour and sugar overpower his familiar scent, and I melt into him, wondering how I’ll ever feel so much contentment from one hug. How this man slipped past all my defenses and wound himself so deep in my heart, I’m forever changed.

That day in the college library altered me in ways I wasn’t prepared for then. Hell, I still may not be prepared for what comes next, but whatever happens, a piece of my heart will always belong to Nero Champion. His “bestie” application is still in effect—he’ll permanently hold that role, no matter where life takes us.

It feels like we embrace for ages, and I won’t pull away first. If these hugs are limited, I’m soaking this one up, needing it to last as long as possible.

Forever, if I’m honest. But that’s probably my irrational side talking.

“Psst, Nero. Cookies are hot out of the oven.” Sydney’s voice cuts into our moment.

I pull my head off his chest and study him.

The circles under his eyes.

The exhaustion lines.

The days’ old scruff on his chin.

Nero sweeps his fingers across my cheeks, eliminating the tear tracks. “Want to hear the most ironic thing I’ve realized since you’ve been in Vermont?”

I rearrange my hands so they’re flush with his back. “Lay it on me.”

“All these years, I’d referred to you as my bestie, but until this week, I never understood what it meant.” My brows furrow, but he continues. “You’ve been the one constant in my life to have my back. At my side, even if we weren’t physically together. A phone call or text away. To cheer me on, no questions asked. The only person who kept all my secrets, my fears and doubts, my quirks.” He pauses to raise a brow, but I can’t acknowledge it. I’m too invested in what else he has to say.

“You’ve shown up when I needed you, you’ve celebrated my biggest wins and mourned my greatest failures. You’ve been my person through it all. I can’t lose you.” He shakes his head as more of my tears fall. “I won’t lose you. What we have works so well because this is the real deal. We’re what dreams are made of, what authors write love stories about. You and me, we’re supposed to do life together. As partners, as a couple. Who love each other, take care of each other, have a family together.”

Lovely as his speech is, it’s the “family” that breaks me, and I interrupt him.

“I want to be a mom, Nero. I know some families are a couple, but that’s not how I envision my future. As much as you’d give me the world and we’d be a great family, I would regret agreeing to that. I’d eventually regret you, and I can’t let myself be that person. Not to the man I love. Not when it won’t make me complete.” I attempt to wiggle out of his arms, but he holds me tighter.

“I didn’t want kids because no woman could ever give them the kind of mom you’re going to be. I didn’t want my kids to grow up with a mom who wasn’t you, Marina.”

His words not penetrating, I shake my head. “I don’t understand.”

Nero clasps our hands together. “When you told me there was a chance you were pregnant, something inside me shifted. I can’t explain it, but for those few minutes of uncertainty, something happened. An idea sparked. A bubble of hope, dashed when it wasn’t true. I felt so let down when the test was negative, and I didn’t know what to do with that information.”